


Category Five

by setoboo



Series: Your Local Weather [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: A/B/O inspired dynamics - but not A/B/O, Drinking, F/M, Genderfluid Mists, I mentioned that Tsuyoshi is straight-up Yandere right?, Look this whole fic is an excuse to have Shamal get dicked down, M/M, Murder, No Beta because I am EXTREME like that, Other, Tsuyoshi out here showing that Yandere finally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setoboo/pseuds/setoboo
Summary: After work he decides he’s going to do it.He is going to prove to himself once and for all that he does not, in any way, shape, or form, feel any sort of attraction for men. Especially not men like Tsuyoshi, who are insane, and strangely overwhelming, and possessed by blood-thirsty-swords. Men like that would be the ones he would be attracted to the least. If he was attracted to men at all. Which he isn’t.------A non-cannon scene set in the future of my Forecast universe. I just wanted to write porn for my fav dads guys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this wont make a whole lot of sense if you haven't read Forecast and Glory. But feel free to read it anyways of course.

After work he decides he’s going to do it.

He is going to prove to himself once and for all that he does not, in any way, shape, or form, feel any sort of attraction for men. Especially not men like Tsuyoshi, who are insane, and strangely overwhelming, and possessed by blood-thirsty-swords. Men like that would be the ones he would be attracted to the_ least. _ If he was attracted to men at all. Which he isn’t.

He doesn’t care what Tomoko keeps insinuating, or the rest of his ‘friends’, he does _ not _ like men. Sure he finds them less threatening here in Namimori, where its mostly safe and settled. But being able to sit between Tsuyoshi and Kotaro while drinking is not the same thing as suddenly wanting to _ sleep _with a man.

So the best way to do this - he assumes - is to do what he would normally do if he was going to look for some female companionship for a night. Go to a bar, find a mark, and flirt. Simple steps he has down to a science, to an _ art _ . So this shouldn’t be a difficult change. He’ll just follow the basic pattern until he gets to the part of the night that flirting gives way to heated looks and the delicious feeling of desire burning low in his stomach. Then, when that _ doesn’t _ happen, he’ll call the experiment a bust and go home. Curiosity sated.

The only issue with this whole plan is that he is well known here in Namimori. If he goes to any bar in the city - even the less visited ones - someone is going to recognize him. Either by his looks, or his Flames. So unless he wants his whole circle of ‘friends’ to hear about this stupidity, he is going to need to travel outside the city for this little excursion. Something that he hasn’t done since he arrived here all those months ago, and something he finds himself strangely hesitant to do now. He might constantly rag on Namimori for being a cultural deadzone, but the city has grown on him. Kind of like a parasite...

Still the issue remains, he is not going to a bar here in Namimori and having half the patrons stare at him while he futilely flirts with a man in the name of science.

Shamal contents himself by deciding not to go _ too _ far away to get his question answered. Especially since the answer is already obvious, and this is just to double check what he already knows is a fact.

Besides, Yotoku is barely more than a hop, skip and a jump away from Namimori. It is sadly more of a backwater city than even Namimori is, but it will serve his purpose well enough regardless of the size. Shamal has never been to a city in his life that didn’t have at least _ one _ bar.

So Shamal leaves his apartment in Bianchi’s hands for the night. Pretending he doesn’t see her dive for her phone the second he walks out the door and start texting her friends. The pink-haired girl probably inviting them over to destroy everything in Shamal’s apartment and drink all his booze while he is gone. Or maybe to watch a movie. Who knows with teenagers.

But just in case, he puts a Mist ward on the cabinet that holds his wine to ensure they won’t be getting into the good stuff. He is nice enough to leave his liquor cabinet unlatched for their perusal if they are feeling brave enough for whiskey and bourbon. Because if Bianchi and her highschool friends want to drink themselves into a stupor, at least they’ll be doing it in the safety of Shamal’s apartment. Where he has plenty of drones to keep an eye out on his darling hellion and her cohorts. And _ maybe _ one or two mosquitoes that can purge the alcohol from a person's system hiding behind the stove. Just in case.

_ (Honestly, the three of them will probably just eat unhealthy amounts of cake and watch terrible romance movies all night. Which is somehow worse than Bianchi drinking hard liquor and wrecking his apartment. Instead she is going to get _ ** _feelings_ ** _ all over it.) _

The train ride to Yotoku is uneventful, but as soon as he arrives he feels like he’s entered into the Twilight Zone. Because directly across from the train exit is a_ McDonalds _of all things. Bright neon arches, greasy smell, and all. In fact the whole corridor seems to be full of all the chain shops you would expect to see in any other train station around the country. All the same stores that no longer exist in Namimori, and Shamal can safely say he hasn’t really missed them despite how jarring it was originally for them not to exist in his town.

He wrinkles his nose at the fast-food chain before him and turns on his heels immediately. Intent on finding a bar and being done with this quickly.

Maybe if this fails as spectacularly as he expects it to, he can be done within an hour or so. Plenty of time to get back to Namimori and go to Izakaya Hinkaku, where he can drink away the annoying itch building under his skin.

His first stop is the visitors information office near the exit, where he grabs one of the maps of the city. It has listings for most places of interest for those passing through the small town. Which means that most of the map is marked with hotels, restaurants, and of course, bars. The map is scant on details about the various establishments beyond directions to each one, and - for the restaurants - what type of food they specialized in. The three bars _ (Three! Three bars for a whole city! What madness!) _ listed have no descriptions to help Shamal make any sort of decision about which to choose. No telling how fancy, traditional, or rundown any of these establishments might be. So he picks the closest one to the station and decides to roll the dice. Since the worst thing that can happen is it’s awful and he has to go to the next one.

Shamal walks the few blocks to the address listed, and almost turns around when he gets to the entrance.

_ Good-Times _ , as the faded neon lights proclaim, is less a bar and more a shambling attempt at a club. He can hear the muffled drumming beats of something repetitive and electronic pouring from the doorway. Not overtly loud, but loud enough for Shamal to know it is the kind of music he hates. Which is exactly the kind of impression he was expecting. The entrance is plastered with aged posters of bands and nightly specials, none of which sparks even the slightest hint of interest in Shamal’s heart despite the subjects being two of his greatest loves in life. Music and booze. The way the papers are layered is just so...blatantly fake. Obviously meant to make the place look far busier than it actually is. It offends him just on principle.

Still, a poor man’s attempt at a club is better for his goal tonight than some stuffy bar where talking is practically prohibited outside of ordering drinks.

So despite his initial distaste, Shamal opens the door and slips inside.

The first thing that hits Shamal is that the interior is dark, and mostly wood.

The second thing he notes is that there are far, far too many children here.

Okay, after a second look, they aren’t children. But certainly most of the people flailing and grinding on the small dance floor are in their late teens, _ maybe _ early twenties at a stretch. Highschoolers or young college age people out doing their best impression of having sex while standing vertical. Amongst the horde is one or two people more in Shamal’s age range, but they all seem to be women. Maybe friends of the highschoolers, maybe older sisters. _ (Probably their mothers, an insidious voice in his head mutters. Viciously reminding him how old he is compared to these babyfaced partygoers.) _ Which is useless to his end goal for the night. How is he supposed to flirt with a man if there are no men around to flirt with?

_ (He ignores the boys grinding and laughing on the dance floor. He’s trying to flirt with a man here, not a boy. _ ** _A man_ ** . _ These infants are hardly older than Hayato or Bianchi.) _

About to turn around and call the place a complete bust, he takes a quick look at the bar area more out of curiosity than any hope. And pauses.

Oh…

Shamal blinks in surprise, the bar itself is void of people. But the bartender behind the empty bar is certainly no boy. Not at all.

The bartender is...rugged might be the best word. A sort of almost lumberjack vibe coming off him due to the combination of red flannel, short beard, and cropped brunette hair. The span of his shoulders is impressive, and his muscles are perhaps even bigger than Tsuyoshi’s. Not close to either of the Sasagawa’s ludicrous muscle mass. But for a civilian, it is impressive enough. And very noticeable even all the way across the bar. 

Shamal decides that yes, he can probably work with this one.

The only issue is that before he can make his way across the floor and take a seat at the bar to start flirting. the bartender’s attention is drawn to a pair approaching the bar. One of the older women and a younger girl. Both of them all pretty smiles and flirty eyelashes as they order drinks. Which prompts the bartender to laugh a little and return the playful flirtations as he goes about filling the order.

But Shamal isn’t blind, he sees how the bartender’s eyes flicker over the curves of the older woman before he turns around. Down the swell of her breasts and the shape of her legs, admiration in his brown eyes for that one brief moment in time.

Which causes Shamal to come up short for a moment, because it had honestly not even occurred to him that his target might be completely straight prior to this very moment. Not even when he was thinking about the whole thing back in Namimori.

It hadn’t felt like an issue that needed worrying about back home. No one seemed bothered by anything like sexual preferences back in Namimori now that he thinks about it. Shamal was just as likely to see a drunk woman at Izakaya Hinkaku declaring her love for her wife for the whole bar to hear, as much as he was to catch two guys in the back corners necking like teens. Which _ should _ have struck Shamal as weird now that he thinks about it. Japan is not a nation known for being great with outlandish shows of affection. The fact that people in Namimori don’t view it as odd probably means that it is _ extremely odd _ to everybody else.

Shamal opens the door and walks back out.

_ Right, _ a tad bit of cheating might be required for this plan to work. Because he is not wasting all night wandering around Yotoku only to go home empty handed. He has better things he could be doing. Like drinking at Izakaya Hinkaku and complaining to Mochida Jin about his terrible night. That sounds far more fun.

A liberal application of Mist Flames in the alleyway next door does the trick. Though it is definitely one of the weirdest things he’s ever used his Flames for.

He looks at himself in the reflection of the shop next door’s windows as he exits the alley. Taking in all the changes he made, and he has to admit - he makes a very nice looking woman. If he does say so himself.

He kept his hair the same brunette color it has been his whole life, just lengthened it a little. His eyes are still brown, but the shape of them is a tad softer to compensate for the shift of his jaw and forehead. Which he also changed just enough to be decidedly feminine without any extravagant bone-work on Shamal’s behalf. Too lazy to go through the effort of etching out a _ whole _ new body for himself just for something he still doesn't think is going to work.

He does Indulge himself a bit and gives this new body a very respectable D-cup bustline. Perky and large enough to be a handful without being _ too _ much. Though the buttons of his white shirt do strain just the tiniest bit against the swell. His ass is also fantastic - in his humble opinion - and he cheats just a little more when he changes his black pants into a pencil skirt that hugs his hips and ass like a dream. If he was braver he might even try wearing heels, but now is not the time for on the job training as it were, so his loafers just become sensible black flats. Completing the ‘business sexy’ look he was aiming for.

He flicks his longer hair over his shoulder, and winks at his own reflection in the dark glass of the window. Very impressed with what he managed to do in two minutes of work.

He is a little weirded out by how little effort it took to switch his gender, but considering the weird shit that happens in Namimori daily, and the shenanigans some of the other Mists in the city get up to. He really shouldn’t be surprised by how easy it was for him to slip into a new form. This is probably another one of those weird ass things that are completely expected back home.

He’ll worry about it later, _ after _ he proves to himself he does not like men.

Reentering _ Good-Times _, he doesn’t spare a glance for the herd of hormones and laughter coming from the dance area. Instead, making a beeline for the bar and his mark behind it.

He sees the exact moment his approach registers with the bartender. Sees the very second the man’s thick brows raise slightly, and how his eyes follow the curves of Shamal’s new body in much the same way he had with the other woman. The slight movement of his adams apple as he swallows. How the man’s hands still from where he is cleaning a cup and how they clench just the _ slightest _ bit tighter around the glass.

Shamal feels himself preen at the attention. It is always nice to have your work recognized, and he did damn fine work on this body. He deserves to enjoy the rush of warmth the bartenders eyes gift him with.

He takes a seat at the bar. Not allowing his annoyance at the barstool below him to show on his face. Whoever designed these red plastic monstrosities deserves a slow death. The stools don’t even have backs on them. No wonder all the younger people seem to have infested the tables and chairs around the main room. They might be equally cheap, but at least you can lean back on them. Still, it gives him ample excuse to put his elbows on the bar and lean forward. Just a tad, not _ too _ much. He isn’t trying to seduce the man, just flirt with him. No reason to shove his cleavage into the rugged man’s face just yet.

“Welcome.” The bartender greets Shamal. Coming to stand in front of him and leaving the glass he’d been working on behind to be cleaned later. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

The bartenders voice is a comfortable baritone, while his smile is all warmth and good humor, with just enough teeth on display to be attractive without crossing the line into threatening. It also makes faint crows feet appear beside his eyes and just the barest hint of laugh lines can be seen behind his facial hair.

Shamal decides it is a nice smile. One he won’t mind having aimed at him for the duration of this experiment. It is certainly less foreboding than Tsuyoshi’s normal grin. With all his teeth on display as a silent promise of violence against flesh. As if the Rain is waiting to sink his teeth into something warm and soft. To enjoy the cries from his prey as they squirm beneath the pressure of both his mouth and Flames. Helpless and hopeless to escape him.

Shamal banishes the thought. He is not here to think about Tsuyoshi being all ominous and weird. He is here to_ not _get laid.

“Just passing through I’m afraid.” He replies, voice just a note off from smokey. Which was a split second decision since he had not actually thought about how he should sound prior to opening his mouth. “I am in dire need of a drink though.” He continues on, drawing out the words with a husky sigh. Trying to seem absolutely done with the day.

The bartender’s smile doesn’t fade even a little, but there is a hitch in his breathing as Shamal speaks. Which causes the doctor to feel a thrill race down his spine at how easy it is to read this man. He can almost understand how Tomoko enjoyed manhunting all these years. There is something very satisfying about seeing a man fall apart just from hearing you speak. Apparently the smokey tone was a hit.

“Rough day, huh? Well let's get you saddled up with something good then. What’s your poison?”

Shamal hums in agreement, aiming a wry smile at the bartender above him. “I don’t suppose you have wine here?”

The bartender makes a sad noise, and shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m afraid not. But I’ll tell you what,” The bartender leans down slightly, so he is closer to Shamal, and he winks in that same flirtatious way he had with the previous women he served. “Give me a minute and I’ll make you something good, yeah?”

Shamal debates the offer for a moment, years of ingrained paranoia fighting against the knowledge that there is little this civvy could possibly lace his drink with that he wasn’t completely immune to. Finally he decides that alcohol wins out.

“Well, you do sound confident. So go ahead, darling. Impress me.”

The pet name slips out intentionally. Simply one of many sweet words he has used over the years against his conquests. Darling is honestly one of the_ tamest _ things he might say to a mark. Hardly worth the dusting of red that blooms over the bartender’s cheeks in response to his words. Yet it is still a delightful reaction. One that prompts a light laugh from his lips that he hides behind a hand. Aiming for dainty and teasing. Instead of the almost predatory enjoyment he is taking from this Flameless man’s reactions.

The bartender’s grin takes on an almost shy edge as he pulls back from leaning down over Shamal. Apparently not having expected his flirting to be returned. “I guess I better make it extra good, huh? One minute.”

Shamal watches his mark move towards where the glasses and multitude of bottles are neatly arranged. Grabbing what looks to be a bottle of pineapple rum and some melon liqueur from the racks, obviously intent on making something more on the tropical side for Shamal. Which might be a nice change of pace. He never orders rum himself despite having no issues with it. He just prefers wine. Or bourbon and whiskey when wine is unavailable. He probably hasn’t had a rum based drink since before Hayato was born come to think of it.

For some reason the fruity drink sounds really nice though, so he leans further onto the bar. Trying to get a good look at what the man is mixing him. Pineapple, melon, and something violently blue that is probably Curaçao goes into a shaker with ice. But the glass that is obviously meant for Shamal’s drink is filled half full with something thick and pink - maybe a fruit puree of some sort - before the two parts meet as the liquor element is poured from the shaker. Making a very pretty drink that fades from an almost pink color on top to a soft teal below.

It looks dreadfully sweet, and against all of Shamal’s normal taste for alcohol, he _ wants _ it.

The bartender garnishes the drink with a whole strawberry, a little umbrella, and a straw, before he returns to Shamal with the creation. Brandishing the highball glass like a priceless treasure as he delicately sets it before the Mist. Still smiling and blushing faintly behind his beard.

“One mermaid sunset. Heavy on the rum, and hopefully enough to impress.”

Shamal laughs as he takes the drink, oddly enthralled by the mixing colors and the sweet scent coming from the beverage. He can only just smell the burn of alcohol beneath all the fruity components. Mostly it smells of strawberries, cantaloupe, and pineapple. Syrupy sweet and cloying. Something that he would normally return for a refund under any other circumstances, as he has never been one for drinks more juice than alcohol. But it's been offered to him, and it would be dreadfully rude to turn down such a nice trinket.

“It certainly looks good.” He agrees with a calculated flutter of his long lashes. “Hopefully it tastes just as good. I do have very high hopes after all.”

The bartender opens his mouth to say something in return, but his attention is stolen away by a group of four boys around Bianchi’s age who are waving for his attention. Obviously wanting their own drinks now that the bartender is done making Shamals. His mark gives him an apologetic smile that Shamal waves off as he pulls his drink closer to him.

“Go. It will give me a moment to judge your work without your smile distracting me.”

The barkeep bursts into a fiery blush that almost has Shamal howling in laughter. How easy is this man going to be? He hasn’t even had to pop a single button on his shirt yet, or start crooning endearments in Italian. He almost wants to see how the man would react if he really starts flirting in earnest. How far down can he make that blush go? What filth can he pour from his lips to send this big, strong man in front of him to his knees? It is a hilariously entertaining thought.

He manages to halt the impulse by wrapping his lips around his straw and letting the saccharine sweetness of his drink coat his tongue instead.

The barkeep moves down to deal with his rowdy customers, and Shamal watches him go. Contenting himself with sipping his mermaid sunset - which despite the atrocious name is actually quite good. He almost wishes he had something to snack on in between sips. Maybe a sweet bread still warm from the oven. Oh, or some of the tempura from that little shop downtown. Mmmm. That sounded delicious actually. Some food that could be converted into a lot of energy along with the sugars in his drink. Tempura, or bread, or..._ Wait. _

Shamal freezes, and frowns in confusion at his own thoughts. _ What the hell? _

He makes a note that sugary drinks are dangerous, and that they make him think weird shit. Like needing to build up energy and craving tempura of all things.

Also, he might need to check his blood glucose levels when he gets home. If he is over here fantasizing about how good some bread sounds right now then there is no telling what wild shit is going on with him. For now he chalks the weird cravings up to the stress of his daily life and dealing with the fallout of Hayato’s Sky. Before he takes another sip of his drink.

Look it’s _ good _ okay? he isn’t going to stop drinking it just because the damned thing is causing him to crave carbs. He’ll stop by a bakery or something on his way back to Namimori. After he finishes this drink and fails spectacularly to be attracted to the rugged man working just feet away.

Content with the idea. Shamal returns his eyes to his mark and watches him pour drinks and chat with the young men further down the bar. One of said young men makes eye contact with Shamal and flashes his own version of a lascivious smile to the doctor. Even throwing in a wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure. As if Shamal will somehow misunderstand the meaning behind the boy’s dark eyes and lip licking.

He can’t control his scoff at an actual _ child _ trying to make a move on him. Thin, lanky, and obviously not done growing into his limbs. His hair is a wild mess of black, and his eyes are equally dark. Nothing about the boy or his cohorts sparks anything in him, and he would prefer for them to hurry up and run back to their mothers so he can get back to what he came here to do. What use could he possibly have for a Flameless brat anyways? At least the bartender was pleasant enough to look at, despite lacking any Flames.

_ (Which is a bit of a bummer honestly. Twining his Mist Flames around the barkeep in another subtle layer of flirtation sounded very fun. How bright would the man blush under the combination of fluttering eyelashes and teasing song? Would he reach back with his own song bright and airy? Or deep and dark? Warm, or cool? Would he chase after Shamal’s Mist as it danced away, or remain stoic and let the doctor take the lead? It all sounded delightfully amusing.) _

The other three boys start ribbing their friend at Shamal’s clear dismissal of him, but at least the four of them take their drinks away from the bar once his mark finishes serving them. Allowing the bartender to return to Shamal.

“Sorry about that.” He apologizes. “Normally it isn’t this busy here, but with it being golden week and all.” There is a helpless shrug from the bartender, and Shamal almost blanches at the idea of this being the club while _ busy _. Sure there are about twenty people dancing and milling around the place, but Izakaya Hinkaku would have that many people on a slow Wednesday afternoon. A Friday evening during a holiday would have Shamal fighting tooth and nail for his table in the back of the bar. And even then, it would probably be Tsuyoshi or Kotaro frightening people away that would secure the table for their use in the end.

“No worries darling, I had a very nice drink to keep me company while you were gone.”

Shamal gestures to said drink, surprised to find over half the sweet beverage is gone already. Wow, he really has been going to town on this thing.

“Glad I could help.” His mark says with a hint of pride in his voice, and Shamal finds he approves of it. The bartender did good work, and while teasing the man is fun, he should take pride in his abilities. Confidence is a good look on people who deserve to wear it.

“My name is Usaida Maeno by the way. It is a pleasure to meet you.” The bartender - Usaida - finally introduces himself. 

Shamal panics for a hot second, scrambling for a believable name before finally blurting out “Gokudera...Ah...Ai. Gokudera Ai, and the pleasure is _ all _ mine Usaida-san.” He covers the stutter over his own ‘name’ by laying the flirting on thick. Unable to believe he just blurted out Hayato’s name and then had the stupidity to call himself _ love _ of all things. What _ idiocy _ just possessed him that he drew up a complete blank on every other name in Japanese? Or Italian? Or hell, even German? Anything would have been better. He practically just put a neon sign on the fact that he’s out here trying to flirt with the man. Stupid, stupid, _ stupid. _

Usaida doesn’t seem fazed over the brief stuttering. “Can I get you another drink, Gokudera-san? You seem nearly finished with this one.”

“Ah yes, that would be lovely. Another like this, or whatever else you feel like making.” Shamal hastily agrees, mostly just to get the man away from him for half a second so he can freak out in peace. Slamming the rest of the drink just to make the need for a replacement that much more necessary.

The bartender takes the glass from his hands and their fingers brush together for one second. An indulgence that Shamal_ only _ allows the other man because he is caught up in his own head at the moment. Otherwise he would have jerked his hand away immediately. He vaguely notices that Usaida’s hands are a little chilly - probably from pouring drinks - and that he doesn’t seem to have any callouses. So whatever the man has been doing to get all those muscles is probably not weapons training.

_ (What a pity, all that size and strength. Wasted.) _

Usaida moves back to his mixing station, grabbing more rum and a few other things that differ from the mermaid drink he made last time. Apparently taking Shamal’s offer of making whatever he feels like to heart.

Shamal forces himself to_ breathe _ and banish away his nerves. The slip up is not that bad. He can recover from this one, and it might even be a good thing he chose his brat’s name. It will act as a reminder that he needs to get this farce over with sooner rather than later. He can’t be out of Namimori for too long. Or else his brats are likely to trip and fall into some other world shattering chaos that seems to follow at their heels. It never fails that as soon as Shamal is distracted, something goes horribly wrong for the siblings.

Besides, there is no doubt he is giving the bartender too much credit. If Usaida had been someone from the underworld -_ who would be on guard for such slips _ \- then he might be in trouble. But some civilian bartender in a backwater town isn’t going to get hung up on a little stuttering. Usaida is not going to suddenly jump to the conclusion that Shamal is actually a former assassin wearing the shape of a woman for his own deceptive purpose of trying to _ not _seduce a man. Because even to Shamal, that whole sentence sounds like madness.

Composure back in place, Shamal shakes his head a little and refocuses on his mark.

Usaida has been a busy little bee making Shamal another sticky sweet drink it seems. This one more red and yellow in color than the prior mix. With none of the pretty teal color from the mermaid sunset is in this one. Still, it is brighter and more colorful than any alcohol he’s drunk in over a decade, and he finds himself strangely enamored by the novelty of it.

He would be infinitely more impressed with a nice full bodied wine, of course. But he gives the bartender points for working with what he has on hand.

The highball glass is once more set before Shamal with a flourish. Usaida gesturing to it as if the drink is a priceless work of art. “For you, Gokudera-san.”

Shamal takes the drink with a hum of interest. "Thank you, what is this one?"

"Oh well, it's a rum based drink, a little grenadine, some cherry liqueur and pineapple juice." The bartender scratches at the back of his head, an almost comically boyish move for such a large man. “It’s called a Kiss on the Beach.”

Shamal can do little more than open his mouth in horrified disbelief. A _ what _ on the _ what _now?

“I swear, despite the name it tastes good!” Usaida hurries to say, obviously reading Shamal’s silence correctly.

The Mist user pulls the glass closer and hesitantly takes a sip while Usaida’s brown eyes watch on nervously. The drink hits his tongue with another burst of too-sweet syrup that is only barely offset by the burn of spiced rum. However the aftertaste is pleasant enough he decides, the tang of pineapple lingering long after all the sugar fades away. It is another drink that under normal circumstances Shamal would have violently rejected. But the sweet fruit flavors are oddly enjoyable despite how little alcohol is in the mix.

“You’re right, this is nice. Though the name…” Shamal lets his comment drift off, instead taking another sip of the horribly named drink.

Usaida shrugs helplessly. “The owner likes American cocktails, he thinks the younger generation will order more of them if the drinks have strange names.”

Considering the way the boys from before had been tittering as they ordered their drinks, the owner might have a point.

“Do you have drinks with stranger names than this one?”

The bartender nods with an embarrassed quirk of his lips. “A few, yeah. But most of the time no one orders them unless they’re dared to. Too embarrassing.”

Shamal leans forward a touch more, and forces himself not to laugh when Usaida’s eyes quickly dart down to his chest and to the straining buttons of his shirt. A tiny sliver of tanned flesh and the barest hint of black lace only just visible in the gaps between buttons. Usaida’s brown eyes jerk away like he’s been burned, and Shamal wants to cackle. This little Mundane is proving to be too easy. “Oh come now darling, you’ve peaked my interest. Are they dirty? Give me an example.”

A burning blush has come back to the bartenders face full force. Leaving Usaida standing behind the bar obviously flustered from Shamal’s request. Apparently it is not only the people visiting the bar who need to be dared to say the names of the drinks.

Shamal takes another sip of his sugary drink, and cruelly enjoys the man’s darkening blush as he flounders.

“Well...Uh...I think..” Usaida clears his throat before finally spitting the name out. “The babymaker, that...that is the worst one. I think.”

Shamal’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline, and he has to fight the reaction to start choking on his drink. Well, he certainly had not been expecting that one. American’s sure are wild.

“I know.” The bartender moans in pain. “I’ve begged him to change the name, but the owner is stubborn.”

“Oh I don’t know, the name certainly gets the point across.” Shamal teases, able to ignore his own feelings about the name in lieu of teasing Usaida about it. “A few of them and at least you know what you’re going to end the night with.” Usaida chokes, and Shamal takes a sip of his drink while the man suffers. Enjoying the spluttering and blistering red blush of his mark as much as he is enjoying the saccharine sweetness of his drink.

The bartender takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, his face still on fire but obviously steeling his nerves. Gearing up his courage before he says “ Would you like one?” in the most breathless tone Shamal has heard in a long time.

The question catches the Mist user off guard, but not enough to trip him up completely. It still makes him pause and consider his answer carefully though. Because Usaida is blatantly interested in him, and Shamal is unsure how much he wants to fan the flames building between them. The man’s reactions are delightfully fun to watch. Like how he squirms and blushes helpless before Shamal’s looks and sweet words. But how much of what Shamal is feeling is actually attraction to the man, and not a sort of sadistic glee at playing with this Mundane? Like a cat with a mouse boxed into the corner.

Well, he supposes he’ll have to keep playing along until he figures it out, won't he?

“Would I like one of what?” Shamal asks, voice smokey and soft as he absently plays with the lip of his drink. Letting his eyes blatantly rove over the bartender. “A drink? Or a baby?”

Usaida’s jaw drops, and the man seems to stop breathing entirely. But the words hit the man harder than Shamal expected. Because a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on the man’s brow, and if the doctor looks down he’s sure that the bartenders pants have become just a little more snug than they were a minute ago.

Oh dear, it seems Shamal may have discovered a kink.

Something warm bubbles up from Shamal’s belly, and he wants to laugh at this little civvy getting hot over the idea. He wants to push harder, and send this poor man to his knees. Because for as big and strong as Usaida looks, he seems so very breakable. And Shamal certainly isn’t going to have children with anyone so dreadfully _ soft. _

He doesn’t even notice how weird the thought is. Too intent on his prey before him. Shaking and sweating with hardly any effort on the doctor’s part.

“Th-the drink?” Usaida finally stutters out, voice hoarse.

Shamal hums, and sips his drink before answering with a lascivious smirk of his own. “I suppose we could start with that one.”

Usaida wheezes slightly as he nods, and hastily walks away. A dazed look in his brown eyes like he is thinking about making something _ else _ besides drinks. Prompting Shamal to snicker into his glass as he continues to sip at his current beverage.

But the thing is that while Shamal is enjoying teasing his mark, and winding the poor man up into knots. He doesn't notice the strange things happening around the bar itself.

Shamal doesn’t notice the odd pressure building around the establishment. Doesn’t feel the deadly stillness settle into the area like waves pulling away from the shore before a Tsunami. Nor does he hear the roar of gale force winds rattling against the glass. He doesn’t notice how the pressure around the bar pushes down on all the little mundane children dancing around. Turning them sluggish and tired. He doesn’t feel the heavy and crushing weight of water threatening to roll in and sweep everything away.

Shamal has grown accustomed to the feeling of aching, _ hungry _, Rain Flames always just on the edge of his senses. Too used to the quiet whisper of monsters deep in the trenches clawing at the edge of his senses. Always eager to smother him deeper and deeper underneath an ocean deep song and drag him into the safety of the abyss below.

Shamal is so used to it in fact, that he doesn’t notice the approach of furious Rain Flames steadily drawing closer.

But he _ does _ feel a sudden wave of frenzy added to his own desires. The same pressure that is forcing the bar patrons to sit down and gasp for breath hits him low in the gut. Ignites the quiet ember that has been flickering in cruel enjoyment while toying with Usaida, turning it into a small inferno inside him. He licks his lips and pulls the straw out of his glass. Choosing to chug the last dregs of the viscous alcohol inside the cup like a cheap shot. The sweet tang of fruit and sugar reminding him of the strange hunger that he felt before. The distracting urge to glut himself on warm bread and tempura. To eat himself nearly sick, like he’s trying to build up the energy to run a marathon.

Shamal is suddenly _wickedly,_ _achingly,_ hungry, and he **_wants._**

Usaida is going too slow, he decides. Unknowing that the man is trapped beneath the heavy tide of Tranquility rolling in. So he lets loose his own Flames from his iron-clad hold. Typically he’s too scared of attracting the Vindice to do so, but the thought barely crosses his mind as he wraps himself around Usaida. Urging the man to hurry up and return with his next delicious trinket. Wanting both his gift and his toys attention.

Shamal’s intervention shields the bartender from the Rain Flames steadily drawing closer, and frees him from the momentary lethargy to finish mixing up the drink he was working on. This one is far simpler than the other two it seems. Mostly a mix of berry juice, a splash of lime, and a frankly startling amount of tequila all poured into a shaker and strained into a cocktail glass. The drink ends up a pale purple color from the berry juice, and Shamal decides that this one is the best color he’s been gifted all night.

He’s so enthralled by the drink being brought back to him that he barely registers the bar doors opening.

Usaida’s eyes never waver from Shamal as he sets the cocktail glass in front of the doctor. Another strawberry on the rim for garnish, but no straw for this one. “For you Gokudera-san.” His eyes are dark, and the look he is giving Shamal can’t be interpreted as anything but heated.

There is a vicious heat that crawls over Shamal as he accepts the drink, that same warmth he expects from flirting with a woman blooming low in his stomach. Making him cross his legs as a painful emptiness becomes all too much to bear. His fingers wrap around the stem of the glass, and he lets the coolness of the drink seep in. Barely enough to calm whatever infernal fire is starting to light him up, but it dims the ache for the moment. At least long enough for him to flip his hair and reveal the tanned column of his neck, and wink at the bartender. “Well thank you darling,” His voice is husky as he raises the glass almost in a toast to the bartender. “Let’s hope the name hold true hmm?”

Usaida’s eyes are hazy, enthralled by lust and the Flame’s brushing against him. “I’m more than happy to make you as many as you like.”

Shamal giggles, actually giggles, heat and alcohol lighting him up like Christmas lights. “Oh? As many as I like? Are we still talking about the drinks? Or babies?”

There is a sudden_ furious _snarl from right behind Shamal, and the unmistakable noise of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

The doctor immediately spins around on his cheap plastic seat, thankful for the fact that there is no back on it to obstruct the movement. But that means there is nothing between him and an absolutely_ livid _ looking Tsuyoshi. Which, what the fuck? What? How? Why is the swordsman here? What the absolute _ fuck _ . How did he even _ find _ Shamal?

Add on to the mystery of Tsuyoshi being here, for some reason the sushi-chef is dressed in western attire despite his normal taste in clothing leaning more towards traditional fair. But the oddity of seeing the Rain in a pair of jeans does little to distract Shamal from the fact that Tsuyoshi has fucking _ followed _ him to Yotoku and now has Amishishi-giri _ unsheathed _ in a civilian bar.

“Tsuyoshi!” He yelps, unable to do more as confusion has his brain running in circles. “What the fuck?”

“I think I should be asking you that.” The swordsman’s voice is low, like the tide pulling out before the waves sweep back in with avengence. “You left town without telling anyone where you were going, or what you were doing, and I couldn’t_ feel _you.” Tsuyoshi steps forward, and Shamal has to lean back on the bar to keep some space between him and the enraged man. “And here I find you, out tempting mundanes while...while…” Whatever he is going to say is lost as bloodlust grips the man. The galeforce howl of Amishishi-giri’s stolen Flames pushing at Tsuyoshi to feed the blade regardless of anything else Tsuyoshi might want to say.

But despite what Shamal initially thinks, the sword doesn’t level with him. Instead the ancient blade is pointed directly at the terrified form of Usaida behind the bar. Tsuyoshi’s eyes blazing abyssal blue as the entirety of his Flames plummet the bar into chilling Tranquility. Which is quickly followed by the sudden _ thunk _ of more than a dozen bodies crumbling to the ground, the patrons of the bar now all dead asleep.

“I will not let you have him, outsider.” Tsuyoshi snaps, obviously intent on killing Usaida. But the barman buckles under Tsuyoshi’s Flames just as easily as the rest of the bar before anything can happen. No defense against the Rain's Tranquility as Shamal had snapped his own Flames back under his skin in preparation for a fight that didn't seem to be coming.

The fact that Tsuyoshi is about to kill this poor Flameless man should not be getting Shamal all hot and bothered. Because that is just fucking weird.

But Shamal has to concede that tonight has just been fucking weird over all, and even with the sudden jolt of adrenaline and fear that Tsuyoshi’s arrival gifted him with - it has done little to sooth the gnawing hunger licking up his spine. The howl of Amishishi-giri is off putting, of course, but Tsuyoshi’s song brushes against him with a tenderness that is directly contrasted by how angry the man looks.

The Rain’s Flames are as heavy and cool as they always are. A smothering blanket that does their damnedest to try and drag him down into the waiting arms of sleep. To tuck him away into the dark crevices of inky trenches where he can be kept safe from the world forever. Fear driving the man more than anything else. As the deceptively gentle notes brush against him and cries out _ “You left me, for him? For this? They can’t have you. They can’t protect you. I’ll drown them all for you.” _ and despite how often Shamal believes that Tsuyoshi’s Flames whisper promises only meant to trick people into falling into his Tranquility, there is not a single doubt in his mind right now that Tsuyoshi is going to kill Usaida for daring to try and take Shamal away from him.

He licks his lips as another pang of heat hits him. The thought of his poor toy dying at the swordsman’s hands doing nothing to discourage the painful hunger inside him.

But guilt does eat at him just the _ slightest _ bit. Usaida has been nothing but entertaining to play with, and he doesn’t deserve to be murdered for it. It’s not like the damned cursed sword will get anything out of killing the Flameless man anyways. There is nothing to feed the stupid blade with since Usaida is completely void of Flames.

So that means Shamal is going to have to distract Tsuyoshi from throwing himself over the bar and cutting the other man in half.

“Tsuyoshi,” He calls out, purposefully sliding out of his seat and into the Swordsman’s space. “He’s already out like a light, there is no point in murdering him.”

Eyes ringed in abyssal blue turn towards him, but the sword stays unmoved. “There is a point, if he dies you have no reason to come back here.”

_ God _, the words should not have hit him as hard as they do. But the ache inside him blooms a little more at the candid comment. Still that does give him the opening he was looking for.

“Well, maybe instead of murdering my plaything you should focus on something else.” He aims for nonchalant, reaching just behind him for his drink. Enjoying the coolness of the glass seeping into his palm as he brings the pale purple drink to his lips. The drink burns from the tequila, but the sweetness of berries is enough to keep it from being too much.

Shamal’s laid back demeanor seems to garner the attention he was hoping for as Tsuyoshi relaxes slightly in turn. “Like what?” The swordsman asks.

Shamal tosses back the drink in three large mouthfuls, and enjoys the rush of warmth that pools in his stomach. But he still feels so dreadfully empty inside even with the newly added warmth. Which prompts him to slam the glass back on the bar so he can lean even closer to Tsuyoshi. The alcohol letting him be bold enough to drag a hand up the other man’s arm in a teasing manner. And in a first for him he lets his own Flame’s brush against the Rain purposefully. Letting all the odd bits of his own birdsong and the rattling cry of summer cicadas sing for the swordsman.

Immediately Tsuyoshi tries to swallow the song, tries to drag Shamal’s Flames into his own and not let them go. But Shamal had assumed the man would do that and was prepared.

“Oh Tsuyoshi,” he sighs, snuffing out the cry of bugs and birds waking up in the morning mist, dragging it all back under his skin. Once more locked behind his iron-fisted control. “What you should be focusing on - is catching me.”

Shamal barely hears the swordsman’s snarl of_ “What?” _ before he bolts for the door. A cloak of Mist Flame covering him, but he goes slow enough to ensure that Tsuyoshi is going to give chase and not remain behind to end Usaida’s life.

He shouldn’t have worried, because Tsuyoshi is on his tail in seconds.

Heat and alcohol mix together inside him and he laughs in a strangely hazy delight at the chase. Dodging Tsuyoshi’s stupidly long arms by mere centimeters as they reach out from the doorway after him. Which prompts him to put on another burst of speed, as well as change his pencil skirt into something much looser to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Shamal!” The sushi-chef practically howls, which prompts another laugh to bubble out of Shamal.

This is going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I just went on a vacation to the mountains and I hated it. So to make myself feel better about getting dragged up the scariest roads in human history, I'mma write porn.
> 
> Fun fact, Usaida's name was chosen because it has the kanji for rabbit in it. My poor boi out here about to get gutted like a rabbit too.
> 
> Babymaker cocktail not actually that yummy, but it is effective at lowering inhibitions. And that is really the whole point when trying to make babies isn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Trains

Tsuyoshi may have stamina and determination on his side, but Shamal is a _ Mist,  _ and that means he has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve for evading capture. 

Really if you think about it he’s been running away from furious Mafia Families and one-night stands for the better part of three decades now. One might even go so far as to call him an expert at it.

Still - It would be helpful if his head wasn’t a hazy mix of hunger, heat, and alcohol at the moment. But even that isn’t enough to really dampen his abilities. It just sort of skews his priorities a little bit. Because if he was going to be smart about not getting caught he would have circled back around the block and made a break for the train station. Leaving a few traps behind to ensure that Tsuyoshi would remain distracted long enough for Shamal to safely find his way to freedom.

Instead he finds himself in a little chain convenience store, completely invisible to the mundane eye. With a plastic bag slowly being filled with everything that sounds even vaguely tasty to him. Mostly fruits, sweets, and breads - but he also throws in a couple bags of chips just for the hell of it. 

Shoplifting complete, he pulls out whatever is the first thing he touches in the bag. Which ends up being a prepackaged muffin that claims to be blueberry flavoured. Shamal is hungry enough to eat  _ anything _ at the moment, so he opens the package without much fanfare and practically shoves the sweet into his face. Humming happily as he chews the berry riddled confection.

Unfortunately, his little detour means that Tsuyoshi has had time to pull whatever magic trick he has that lets him track down Shamal. Because he only manages to get about halfway through his stolen muffin before the shop door chimes. Announcing the Rain as he enters the store and drawing the attention of the old woman at the cash register who had - up until that moment - been absently reading a magazine, completely ignorant of her store being ransacked right in front of her. 

_ Right, _ time to go.

“I know you are here Shamal.” Tsuyoshi says to the seemingly empty store as he starts to stalk down the aisles. Which prompts the cashier to look panicked. Obviously thinking the man who just walked in with a sword strapped to his hip is completely crazy. Which she is not wrong. Tsuyoshi  _ is  _ completely crazy. Just _ not _ about this one particular thing.

Shamal snorts at the thought and barely remembers to mask the sound of his flats hitting the linoleum as he bolts into the employee’s only area of the store. Ducking out the backdoor with his stolen goods in one hand and a half eaten muffin in the other. Tsuyoshi right on his heels.

The night air hits Shamal with a blessed chill, but Tsuyoshi is  _ far  _ too close for comfort. So that needs to change immediately. 

“Here, catch!” He yells, before stuffing the rest of his muffin in his mouth and using his now free hand to throw one of the chip bags behind him at Tsuyoshi. Along with a shaky illusion of a dozen other bags to mask the real bag’s trajectory. His ability to craft illusions has always been his weak point. Solid constructs and protective wards he can do all day. But making fake chip bags is stupidly taxing. Still, the real chips are no great loss since he wasn’t very interested in eating them to begin with, and they prove much more useful in distracting the Rain.

He hears Tsuyoshi curse as his reflexes play against him. Battle instincts making the Rain spend precious seconds breaking the flimsy illusion and deflecting the real bag of wasabi chips from connecting with his head. Which gives Shamal the time he needs to completely disappear back under his Mist-veil. Fighting back another giggle at the outraged yell Tsuyoshi makes when he vanishes right before his eyes.

The fervour that Tsuyoshi is using to hunt him down with is exhilarating. The sound of the swordsman’s shoes hitting the pavement, and the crushing pressure of the other man’s Flames trying their  _ damnedest _ to trap Shamal in one of his infernal bubbles of Tranquility is thrilling in the worst of ways. Because the inferno that had been sparked to life back at the bar is now climbing up his bones and blood vessels with every desperate breath as he flees. Eating him from the inside out and leaving him dizzy and delighted as he runs further and faster than he has in years.

The strange hazy heat, and the growing hunger inside him, calls for him to slow down. Tempts him to take another moment to rest and nibble on his ill gotten gains. It teases him, whispers that giving Tsuyoshi a chance to catch up will make the chase more fun - more  _ enjoyable _ \- for when he is finally caught.

But another part of him rebels against the idea. He won’t be caught  _ that _ easily. In fact, he won’t be caught at  _ all _ . He is going to get on the damned train before Tsuyoshi can, and then return to the safety of his apartment. Where he knows that Tsuyoshi won’t dare to intrude, because his darling Bianchi is there. And if the insane bastard knows what's good for him he won’t  _ dare _ knock down Shamal’s door while she is anywhere close by. He will skin the man alive if he tries.

Still, the idea of being caught by the Rain aches like a bruise. Pulls at him in a way that he doesn’t know what to do with. He is so damnably  _ hungry, _ and even with all the food in his bag - and all the alcohol he’s already drank tonight - nothing seems to be filling the void inside him. Nothing but the terrifying idea of slowing down enough for the swordsman's arms and Flames to catch him.

He still runs though. Hunger is hunger, and Shamal can push through the heat lancing through his veins for now. Whatever is happening to him can be fixed once he’s home. He’ll have full access to his medical equipment and his mosquitoes there. Something in his apartment will make this terrible emptiness go away. He is a doctor, he can fix himself.

_ (God, he hopes he can fix himself.) _

Yotoku’s train station appears before him. A dim vision in the dark of night. And he bolts for the gate, desperate to get back to the stupid McDonalds and onto the train. Barely even paying attention to how loud his panting has gotten, or to the sound of his flats hitting the tile as he sprints down the mostly empty hallways. Completely intent on his one single goal and starting to lose focus on his Flames keeping him hidden from sight.

Shamal chances a look around and doesn’t see Tsuyoshi behind him anymore. Lost somewhere during Shamal’s mindless zig-zagging through the streets. Which is somehow both elating and terribly disappointing at the same time. Here he is at the home stretch, with the open doors of the train before him and the hollow feeling of victory settling into the emptiness inside him. The Rain no longer hot on his heels signifying that Shamal has somehow managed to escape the man and won the impromptu race between them. 

Except that he is wrong.

Shamal shrieks in surprise as he passes through the doors of the train and a pair of familiar arms immediately wraps around his waist. Dragging him back into the solid warmth of a very toned chest, and then instantly slamming the doctor against the small space between the open doors and the seats. Which is apparently the same space his attacker had been hiding in. Boxing Shamal in and causing the Mist-user to drop his bag of foodstuffs all along the floor of the train. His face, chest, and his hips, everything being smashed into the wall and viciously pinned by the heavy weight of his assailant. Who uses their whole body to keep Shamal in place. Leaving the Mist unable to do more than squirm and gasp for breath as he fights against the hold.

“Caught you.” Tsuyoshi pants into Shamal’s ear, sending his hot breath fanning over the side of the Mist’s face and down the back of his neck. Which prompts an honest to God shiver down Shamal’s spine. 

“Get off of me you insane bastard.” Shamal forces the words out. Desperately trying to wriggle away from Tsuyoshi’s unyielding grip. Which only makes the Mist notice the other _unyielding _thing pressed very snugly against his ass. “That had _better_ be your damned sword poking me, Tsuyoshi.” He hisses. Valiantly ignoring the heat and warmth radiating off the swordsman’s body, and the heavy weight of what he can only pray is Amishishi-giri’s hilt grinding against him.

Tsuyoshi’s hands unwrap from Shamal’s waist long enough for him to grab Shamal’s hips instead. Pinning the doctor even tighter to the small sliver of wall and then slowly -  _ achingly slowly _ \- grinding against him. Dragging the obvious line of his erection up against Shamal’s skirt in a way that makes it very very obvious that no. That is not the hilt of a sword rubbing at him. 

Shamal opens his mouth to make his outrage at the movement known, but before he can say a single thing Tsuyoshi snaps “ _ Hush _ .” His voice tight with a tension that instantly puts Shamal on edge. Having only ever heard that particular tone right before Tsuyoshi loses the fight to the bloodlust always skittering on the edge of his conscience. The omnipresent hunger for battle that is mostly caused by the cursed-swords in his possession. “I  _ caught _ you.” Tsuyoshi murmurs into his ear, voice ocean deep and as wrecked as the ships that litter the depths below. The timbre prompting another shiver to travel down the doctor's spine against his will. “Do you know how  _ long _ I’ve waited for you to shift for me, Shamal? I was so _ patient _ . I didn’t even try and force it to happen like I could have. I was being so  _ good _ for you.” Shamal bites back a whine as Tsuyoshi’s mouth pressed hotly against his throat, lips dragging across tanned skin as he speaks. His teeth an implicit threat. “But I’m done being good now Shamal, I’ve caught you. And I’ll give you what you want.”

Shamal has no idea what the swordsman is talking about. Nothing about shifting, or being good, or of waiting for something. But from the sound of it all, this probably doesn’t bode well for him. Not at all.

“Tsuyoshi -” He starts, confused and unsure about what is happening. 

“ _ Shhh, _ I’ve got you.” The Rain murmurs, hands clenching even tighter at Shamal’s hips to keep him still as Tsuyoshi slowly rocks against the doctor. The heated drag of his denim covered cock forcing the material of Shamal’s skirt to bunch up behind him. “Just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

The words are accompanied by the heaviest wash of Rain Flames that Shamal has ever felt pressed on him. It is layers, and layers, _ and layers _ of unflinching, unwavering Will bearing down on him in a tidal wave. Tsuyoshi is obviously damned and determined to have Shamal wrapped within his unnerving Tranquility no matter what. The Flames are a roar of unrelenting water and the earth cracking near volcanic vents. The siren song of monsters in the trenches luring him away with little lights and shiny teeth. The terrifying promise of safety in the dark. With ruinous laughter bubbling up from the bottom that chants  _ “Mine, mine, mine.”  _ as the hooks sink in. 

And Shamal is ashamed to admit that in his current state of fatigue and heat haze - there is literally nothing he can do but whimper and succumb to it. As inevitable as the fall of great Atlantis to the sea below.

“There you go.” Tsuyoshi says against his throat, placing soft kisses and gentle nips across the tanned flesh as he forces Shamal to go boneless in his hold. Unbearably gentle in contrast to the overwhelming pressure of his Flames. 

Tsuyoshi’s hands finally unclench from Shamal’s hips. Releasing his vice like grip from soft flesh. So he can start to make little circles along the cut of Shamal’s hip bones instead. As if trying to soothe away the pain his brutal grip had caused there. But he doesn’t let go of Shamal. Doesn’t move away and let him have room to  _ breathe _ . Still pinning the Mist’s body to the wall and slowly rocking against him. Hot and heavy. Each slow roll of his hips reminding Shamal of the empty hunger inside him that grows fiercer by the second. The feeling only made worse as Tsuyoshi’s Flames slip underneath Shamal’s already shaky control of his own Mist Flames. The tendrils of Tsuyoshi’s terrifying abyss prying Shamal’s usual iron-clad hold open like it is made of tissue paper.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Tsuyoshi asks with the sweetest smile, all while he reaches in and _ breaks  _ Shamal open. “You always hide away what you are - but you’ll sing for me now won’t you, songbird?”

Shamal whimpers. Scared at the sudden lack of control as his soul is laid bare. But hunger and heat,  _ (and maybe, just maybe, affection) _ seeps out through his Flames regardless.

He doesn’t like how he sounds, doesn’t like how his Flames _ feel _ . How they sing and chirp without his conscious control even as he tries to drag them back beneath his skin. A midmorning misty chorus of birdsong, cicadas, and crickets ringing loud and clear. An amalgam of senseless, airy noise that drones on. He doesn’t think his Flames are really worth how delighted Tsuyoshi seems to be right now. But there is literally nothing he can do to stop his own Flames from crooning for Tsuyoshi’s entertainment. Nothing to stop him from writhing against the Tranquility holding him down and singing like a caged bird for the sushi-chef’s enjoyment.

“Tsuyoshi.” He croaks in fear.  _ “Tsuyoshi.” _ His Flames sing in hunger.

The Rain kisses his jawline, and moves his gentling hands away from Shamal’s hips to low across his belly. The weapon calluses on his palms are obvious even through the material of Shamal’s shirt as he presses against the Mist user’s stomach. Drawing soft, soothing, circles with his hands that somehow makes the emptiness inside worse. “Mmmm, now that  _ is  _ pretty. I don’t think you’ve ever cried out for me before Shamal. Otherwise I would have had you pinned down long before now. Still - I do have to wonder how you possibly could have been satisfied with that mundane man when you’re so hungry for this.” Tsuyoshi's warm palm grinds mercilessly against the space below his belly button. Which leaves Shamal gasping for air as suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe through the hunger inside him. “Look how  _ empty _ he left you, after you practically begged him for as many children as you could carry. Like that useless nobody could possibly give you what you want.”

“I d-did not beg!” He denies immediately, Face on fire and scrabbling against the metal of the train wall but unable to do more than that, Tsuyoshi’s body and Flames keep him anchored in place. His hand a burning brand along his stomach, and the Rain’s cock a gentle counterpoint that urges Shamal to rock with him. But Shamal refuses to match the rhythm, refuses to rock back, so he locks his trembling knees instead. “I-I was just -”

“Just what? Just teasing him? Is that why you asked him to make you as many babies as you liked then? I _ heard  _ you, Shamal. I could feel how hungry you were for it as soon as I got inside the bar.”

He shakes like a leaf in a storm, embarrassed and unable to hide it as he is laid bare underneath Tsuyoshi’s Tranquility and his own Flames crooning in confusion. “No, no it was a joke. I wasn’t- I didn’t  _ want _ him. I swear, I don’t know why…” His voice trails off, because he really has no idea what happened near the end of his time at _ Good-Times  _ that flipped the switch from teasing and laughing at Usaida to actually starting to get heated up. Sure the idea of ‘making babies’ had drawn his attention, but the oddly frenzied heat and the grasping desire for sweets and colors and a warm body to hold him down and cure the emptiness inside him had not come to a head until near the very end.

“ _ Oh. _ ” Tsuyoshi sounds vaguely delighted again. Like Shamal’s stuttering denials and warbling Flames have given him a gift he wasn’t expecting. “My  _ poor  _ songbird. So hungry for it, and you don’t even know why.”

The hand on Shamal’s stomach drifts down further, lower and lower on its journey. Causing Shamal to bite his lip and vainly attempt to squirm away as Tsuyoshi’s hand cups the front of his sex. Fingers separated from it by two thin layers of cloth, and applying hardly enough pressure to warrant the fissure of heat that lances through Shamal’s body at the contact.

Tsuyoshi makes a startled noise, and then hums in amusement. “Well now, I didn’t expect you to  _ fully _ shift your body Shamal. I figured you’d keep your cock at least.” His fingers flex slightly, as if to point out the missing appendage beneath them. The movement hardly anything, with no new pressure added. But it causes Shamal to choke on air and acknowledge just how  _ soaked _ he is becoming between his legs. The hastily transformed panties he’s wearing doing nothing to halt the flood of slick starting to slide down his trembling thighs. “Maa, it’s not a huge loss I suppose. I was interested in seeing how well you used it since Tomoko always speaks so fondly of your time together, but I can still have plenty of fun with you like this. You’ll still sing for me regardless won’t you songbird? Cry and sob for me until I give you what you want?”

Shamal opens his mouth to do...something. Yell, or defend his bodily choices, or maybe even cry out like Tsuyoshi wants him to. But he is interrupted by an automated voice coming over the train’s speakers telling everyone to move away from the doors as they close. Signifying that the train is about to depart the station.

Tsuyoshi seems to take the advice of the semi-robotic voice and moves back a step. He doesn’t take his hands off of Shamal, but there is at least enough space for air to pass between their bodies now. 

Not that it does the doctor any good. Because Tsuyoshi’s Rain still has him fully submerged in Tranquility. Making it difficult enough to stay standing under his own power without being propped up by the hard planes of the swordsman’s body.

He watches as the doors start to close in front of him. Prompting him to legitimately debate trying to dart out of them. Tsuyoshi’s hands are barely holding onto him, and It would only take three steps to be outside the train-car. Meaning he could be free and leave the Rain alone - and trapped - on his way back to Namimori if he timed it perfectly. There would be another train in 15 or so minutes that he could take home instead. Or he could find a hotel to hole up in for the night while he tries to figure out what the hell is going on with him. All he has to do is run, right now, and he’s free of Tsuyoshi’s typhoon. 

Instead his knees shake, and Tsuyoshi’s voice is gentle as he coaxes the doctor to turn around. “Come on, this way. Let's sit down.” 

He feels drunk, which is almost impossible. He has a legendary tolerance for alcohol and only had three drinks tonight, two of which were mostly juice. But it is the closest feeling he knows to this shaky, too hot feeling. As if controlling his limbs is almost beyond his control and only made worse by Tsuyoshi pressing down with his Flames to keep Shamal trapped in his bubble. Still - almost without his conscious control - he turns around. As graceful as a newborn colt. Tsuyoshi’s warm hands are the only things keeping him upright. 

The doors close with a chime. Shamal’s chance at escape is lost with it.

But Tsuyoshi is smiling, the wry one with too many teeth on display. The same one he always gives Shamal. Pleased as punch at the doctor follows his directions. Something warm and dangerous shining in his eyes.

Shamal follows Tsuyoshi’s guiding hands. Five steps across the train-car floor that feels like a hundred miles. They stop as Tsuyoshi sits down on the bench, and instead of guiding Shamal to sit down beside him the swordsman’s hands tighten around his hips again. Dragging the doctor down so that he is forced to straddle the Rain’s lap. Angling Shamal so that his core is pressed as tightly as possible into the cradle of Tsuyoshi’s hips. The soaked front of his panties purposefully dragged against Tsuyoshi’s erection in an almost painful grind. The metal of his zipper digging into Shamal’s clit in a vicious bite. _Too fast._ _Too much_.

“‘Yoshi!” he yelps, squirming away from the almost pain arcing through him. But the Rain’s hands have not released him. Nor have his Flames. Shamal only manages to writhe more against the very thing he is trying to flee from. Pushing back with his own Flames in a weak bid to break free. 

“Hey now. None of that.” Tsuyoshi instantly admonishes. And in between one breath and the next the pressure of Tsuyoshi’s Tranquility seems to double somehow. Causing Shamal to choke on the words he was about to spit out and collapse against the swordsman instead. Boneless and heated. Sickly empty and unable to escape. His head lands on Tsuyoshi’s shoulder, and it’s all he can do to lift his hands up and grasp the material of Tsuyoshi’s shirt. His weak grip is a life line. The tiniest lifeboat on the endless ocean.

Tsuyoshi rubs at his hips with his thumbs and makes another amused noise that is laced with exasperation. “You are so damned  _ stubborn _ , songbird. I can’t believe I just had to use a lethal dose of Flames to finally knock you down. You make me work too hard.” Shamal shivers and Tsuyoshi nuzzles against his hair, his breath warm. “It’s fine though. The fight is half the fun of playing with you, and I don’t think I could have left these mundanes alive while I took you anyways.” 

Shamal makes a confused noise, and barely manages to turn his head to the side. Blinking away the haze taking over his mind as he finally notes that there have been _ people _ inside the train this whole time. At least three of them, all men. All of whom are slumped over in various uncomfortable positions. None of them showing any signs of respiratory movement from his position. And the closest one to Shamal has a distinct blue discoloration to his face and hands.

It takes the doctor a moment to put all the information together. Having to fight off the warmth bubbling up from his core to let him concentrate long enough to diagnose what he is seeing. And without physically checking he can’t be a hundred percent certain. But he would put money down on Rain induced Shock Lung. A quick and brutal death for these evening commuters. And a  _ terrifying _ skill he was not aware that Tsuyoshi had in his already nerve-wracking arsenal of ways to kill people.

When he finally does figure it out he turns his head back to burrow into the crook of Tsuyoshi’s neck. Not wanting to see the glassy eyes of some nameless businessman looking back at him while he is boiling inside. Minorly disturbed at how  _ little _ he cares about the fact that Tsuyoshi has just  _ crushed _ these civilians like ants. 

Tsuyoshi ends up wrapping one arm around his waist, and the other moves up to tangle in his hair when he burrows back into the Rain’s shoulder. A warm embrace that is a touch too tight to be comfortable. The hand in his hair is a half-step from being painful. But he finds the ache oddly grounding. Unable to escape, unable to fight. Surrounded by death and being eaten alive by a blistering hunger. The pain is something he can concentrate on. Something soothingly familiar. 

His Flames quiet down as he finally relaxes beneath the crush of Tranquility. His hips slotting back into place in spite of the cruel bite of cold metal that he originally tried to flee from. Achingly empty, and desperate for any sort of friction but blessedly unable to move. Unable to hunt for his own pleasure by rolling against the man beneath him. Only the faint rocking of the train in motion giving him any relief, and even that is more a tease than anything.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you Shamal?” Tsuyoshi sighs, hands tightening just a touch more. “The ride is barely 15 minutes long, and that is not  _ nearly  _ enough time to have any  _ real  _ fun with you. Even with you being so sweet for me right now.” 

Shamal’s only response is silence. Which doesn’t seem to put Tsuyoshi off any. The question appears to have been more sushi-chef’s own sake anyways. As before Shamal can even begin to contemplate what the Rain is rambling about the swordsman seems to finally come to a decision all on his own. 

“Mah, it’s fine.” Tsuyoshi dismisses his own worries with an amused huff, beginning to card his fingers through Shamal’s hair as he continues to speak. “I’ll just bring you home and let you get comfortable at the shop. I have plenty of material’s to properly take care of you there, and there is less chance I’ll have to swat anymore flies swarming around you once I have you secluded away.”

Shamal wants to open his mouth. Wants to fight the lethargy and the comforting touches to once more _demand_ answers from the swordsman. He wants to fight tooth, nail, and Flame to know just what in Saint Mark’s holy name the man is intending to do with him. 

But no fight comes from him as Tsuyoshi fingers stop carding through his hair, and instead tighten their hold once more. Using his renewed grip to move Shamal’s head without the Mist’s permission. Bringing the Mist’s face to his, and then leaning down. Connecting their mouths in a hungry kiss.

The kiss is more a brutal promise of all the violence that will soon be laid out on Shamal’s fevered flesh than anything actually resembling a lover’s kiss. It is all heat, and teeth, and intent. Nips against his lips that cleave a little too close to actually cutting. Fingernails that dig into the back of his head a touch too sharply. It is all heat. Hot. Too much, too fast. He’s so damnably hungry for it, he wants more. Needs more. He wants it. _ Wantswants _ ** _wants more_ ** _ . _

Shamal succumbs to the tide.

He kisses back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh yeah >.> this is all brutally self-indulgent.
> 
> I decided to cut the last part in half to make the change feel a little more cohesive. Also writing porn is hard.
> 
> Lemme know if you find any errors, I barely skimmed this before posting.
> 
> (*Blasts 'Give me Compliments' song on repeat*)


End file.
